Page 33 of All Yours

“I’ll let you drift off, then.” Was the last thing I heard.

A strange sound made its way through the thick cobwebs of sleep. Was it real or in my dream? A crash. That sound was inside my house. I sat straight up in bed, the surge of adrenaline clearing my brain of sleep as the sound of heavy, unknown footsteps moved through my kitchen.

My phone lay next to me in bed from where I’d fallen asleep talking to Jonah, the connection long disconnected. I dialed 911, but then I couldn’t speak out loud. It would alert the intruder to my presence. I slipped out of bed, avoiding the creaky floorboard, and placed the phone, still connecting to emergency services under the bed, out of sight. An old baseball bat lay on the floor under my bed, and I retrieved it as I made out the sounds of rifling papers. The intruder was going through the papers on my desk. A drawer opened. Who was this and why were they going through my things? Another drawer opened.

I stood in the middle of my bedroom, holding my breath and the bat at the ready. Should I confront them or hide? Something hit the ground with a thud. I jumped, heart pounding against my ribs. The sound of blood rushing through my veins was almost louder than the ransacking taking place. My breathing shallow and ragged, I tiptoed to the bedroom door and stood flush against the wall. Would they leave after looking through my desk? I tried to steady my breath to keep panic at bay and waited. The sounds in my living room grew quiet. I couldn’t see anything out in the darkened living room. The intruder was on the other side of the room by my desk. I peered around the doorframe a second time and came face to face with a large, hulking man. Dressed from head to toe in black with a mask obscured most of his face, he looked like a shadow.

I screamed and rammed the end of the bat forward, contacting the intruder’s stomach. He made an oomph noise, stepping backward and bouncing off the chair. I stepped into the living area and swung the bat, making contact with his side. After all these years, I was still efficient with the old Louisville Slugger. He cried out, scrambling away from me.

“Get out,” I shouted.

The shadow of a man stumbled back into the living room, and I followed. This time taking a swing at his shoulder, the bat connecting a whack.

“Out,” I barked.

He yelled out something unintelligible, attempting to avoid the bat, and grabbed my laptop off the top of the desk. The cord jerking free from the wall as he charged across the room and out the back door. Police sirens sounded in the distance.

Chapter Twelve

Jonah

“Wait, slow down. What happened?” I said into the phone, wiping sleep from my eyes. A phone call from Sloane had roused me. Every alarm bell in my body sounded while her panicked voice rattled on unintelligible through tears. Then, the phone went silent.

“Hey, Jonah, it’s Mike Garcia.”

“Mike?” What the hell was he doing there? Mike was a Hart Valley police officer. “What’s wrong?”

“An intruder broke into Ms. Tompkins’ home. She said that you would come secure the door.”

“I’m on my way.”

When I arrived at Sloane’s, an officer at the open gate waved me through. Cop cars lined part of the mile-long gravel drive. Flashlight beams out in the wooded area to the right. Would the intruder still be in the woods? I parked in front of Sloane’s house and hurried up the front steps. They’d called me to repair the back door, but I had to see her first.

“Sloane,” I called, bursting through the front door.

She crossed the room and threw herself into my arms. Her slender body trembled as I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed the soft bright yellow bathrobe enveloping her. The cheerful color in direct contrast to the heavy vibe in the room.

“Are you okay?” I asked, inhaling the aroma of her freshly washed hair.

“Yeah,” she whispered into my chest. “Someone came into my house.”

“Did he hurt you?” My hands slid down her back, feeling her slight body beneath.

“I hit him with a baseball bat before anything happened.”

I looked at Mike, and he held up a wooden Louisville Slugger. Ouch. Well, good for her. I hoped he was in pain.

“She said you’d secure the door?” Mike asked.

“Yeah.” I planted a quick kiss on top of Sloane’s head, and tried to release her, but she held on. “I need to see the door, hon.”

“Don’t leave,” she whispered, her head still buried in my chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. “But I need to see the door.”

She relented, and I followed Mike to the back door. “Did they take anything?” I asked him.

“Ransacked the desk, and took the laptop on the way out,” he said.

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